During that time, one of the men in the club took something of a shine to Santa Claus riding reindeer Sainsbury’s shirt. This guy was easily in his forties, big, sweating and lonely. He’d been circling the club for a few hours, nodding his head as if he was actually there to dance, and I made the mistake of making eye contact. He stopped just behind me, and head-nodding turned to hand-waving, and hand-waving turned to hip-snaking. My old friend and the rest of the girls either hadn’t noticed or chose not to step in. Not a problem it’s not their job to save me, and if they tried to they might be putting themselves in an uncomfortable position. As loathe as I am to admit it, this was a job for a man.